The One Time Sherlock brought dinner home (sort of)
by Sherlock River Hekate
Summary: Sherlock comes home with a bag from the grocers. Surely Sherlock hadn't actually bought something that was edible?


"Where have you been?" John asked, as Sherlock hung his coat on the wall.  
"Went to Barts," He replied, walking into the kitchen and placing a bag on the over crowed table top.  
John looked up at the noise of glassware being rearranged and something thudding on to the wooden table.  
"What's that? I swear to God Sherlock, if that's another leg on the table…" John let the sentence trail off.  
"Don't worry John," Sherlock replied as he collapsed onto the couch, "The bag came from the butchers." John was surprised; this would be the first time since they moved into Baker st that the detective had made any contribution to the shopping.  
"I got three kidneys, a liver, a rabbit and an ox tongue I believe," Sherlock continued.  
'Of course, he wouldn't get something actually edible from the butchers, only things he can experiment on', John thought.  
"Nothing for tea then?" John said instead.  
There was no reply and John turned back to reading the newspaper.

A few hours later John wandered into the kitchen, passing Sherlock peering into the microscope as he went. After checking that there were no surprises in the kettle, John filled it and switched it on.  
"Tea, Sherlock?" He called over his shoulder, reaching for two mugs as he spoke.  
"Thank you," Sherlock replied, not even looking up from whatever he was examining under the microscope.  
John looked at the slides strewn around the table as he placed the hot cup within the other man's reach.  
"What's on them?" He asked, carefully picking up a slide by the edges and examining it. True to form, Sherlock hadn't labelled his slides.  
"Rabbit lung on that one," Sherlock replied as he straightened, "And rabbit fur on this one."  
Carefully, John replaced the slide and walked towards the lounge with his cup of tea. He had long given up trying to figure out why the consulting detective did these experiments, so long as they stayed in the kitchen and didn't end in an explosion then he had no reason to complain. Just as John was about to sit down he had a thought.  
"Sherlock, what are you going to do with the rest of the rabbit?"  
The dark haired man wandered into the lounge with his cup of tea, sitting in his chair.  
"I only really wanted the organs and fur for the experiments," He replied, "I was probably going to throw the rest out. Did you know..."  
John cut the monologue short before the detective could continue.  
"How big is the rabbit?" John asked.  
"Why?" Sherlock replied in confusion. "It's not like you can, oh." He stopped short, his brain realising what John was planning. "Approximately 400g I would say."  
John smiled, as he placed his empty cup on the side table and stood up.  
"I think I'll go ask Mrs. Hudson if she has a recipe for rabbit pie."

Half an hour, and a trip to the supermarket, later John was standing in the kitchen, a clear space having been made on the kitchen table for preparing the pie. The rabbit, leeks, and onions and other various ingredients lay on the table ready to be cut and prepared. A few sheets of puff pastry lay defrosting by a dish that Mrs Hudson had given him to use for cooking the pie. John thought briefly about asking Sherlock for help, but then decided that he would cause more problems that he would help. After a few minutes, the flat at 221B Baker Street began to smell of browning meat and cooking onions. Even Sherlock had to admit that the pie did smell appetising. John decided to invite Mrs Hudson up for tea as well. It wasn't often that there was actual food cooked in 221B and John figured they owed her for the amount of times she had made meals for them, despite her constant reminder that she was their landlady, not their housekeeper.

"John, what's that incessant beeping?" Sherlock complained as the doctor walked out of the bathroom.  
"That's the alarm on the oven Sherlock," John replied, striding into the kitchen, "It means that the pie is cooked."  
He opened the oven and removed the pie, placing it on the counter top to cool down for a bit.  
"Sherlock," He called out to the man in the living room, "Do we actually have anywhere we can eat?"  
"Why can't we eat in the lounge like we normally do?" Sherlock replied  
"I can't ask Mrs Hudson to sit on the couch Sherlock," John told him, appalled at the thought. "I suppose we could eat in her apartment." John sighed.  
"That smells lovely, John," Mrs Hudson said, walking into the apartment.  
"Thank you," John turned to smile at their land lady, "I hate to ask you this, but would it be a problem if we ate in your apartment?" He gestured around him, "We don't have much clean space up here."  
Mrs Hudson looked around her and smiled, "Not a problem at all, dear. I know what Sherlock's like with all his papers and case notes."  
Together they took the pie down to Mrs Hudson's flat, and John grabbed a beer for himself.

John sat back in his chair, full of pie and Mrs Hudson's lovely dessert. He didn't think he could eat another bite if he wanted too.  
"That was lovely, John," Mrs Hudson commented, sweeping in and collecting the dirty dishes.  
"Not as good as your cake," John replied, "You are an absolute angel."  
Mrs Hudson laughed good naturedly as she moved the plates to the sink.  
"What did you think of the pie, Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson encouraged, turning to see the detective sitting at the table fiddling with something.  
"The pie tasted like something I believe I have had before," The dark haired man mused.  
"You probably had rabbit pie when you were little," Mrs Hudson commented.  
"No, I don't believe I have," Sherlock replied. "Or at least I don't think I have."  
He frowned, trying to remember something that was just out of his minds grasp.  
"I don't know, it's food," He muttered, "I probably deleted it."


End file.
